


The Promise of Rain

by MizDirected



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Romance, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 14:18:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7364836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizDirected/pseuds/MizDirected
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-war, the primarch encourages his love to step back out into the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Promise of Rain

**Ylasiun** \-- The ancient turian version of heaven.  The realm where all honourable warriors spent eternity.

 

The near black sky pours down rain.  Well, not so much rain as a thin slurry of mud and ash.  It rains a lot since the end of the war.  The precipitation is generally warm, but that’s about the best that can be said for it.  

 

Shepard’s arm clutches the primarch’s waist in a death grip that grows tighter with each step toward the door.  Her cane thumps softly across the tile floor, slowing as the hallway runs out.  There’s nothing to do but step past Garrus and through the portal into the rain.  

 

Victus looks down at her, his heart seizing when he sees the fear twisting her face.  “Jane?”

 

She shakes her head, backing up until his arm halts her retreat.  “I can’t.  I can’t go out there, Adrien.”  She turns toward him a little, staring up into his face, eyes dry but wide and terrified.  For that second, her fear tugs at his heart so strongly that whatever she asks of him, he’ll agree to it.  When she speaks, he can scarcely hear her over the rain.  “I’m not ready.”

 

He answers her with a sigh, soft and noncommittal.  He looks away to meet the ice-blue of Garrus’s stare, needing the space and the other torin’s resolve to help him hold firm.  Yes, he can hold the line.  Shepard’s been ready to leave the hospital for nearly a month, but every time she begs off, he allows it, making excuses to himself about her health or the weather.  The time has come to ease her from her cocoon.

 

He knows there’s no point in telling her that no one will care about her scars.  When he tells her that she’s beautiful, she accuses him of wearing biased or faulty eyewear.  So, he takes a different tack.  “It’s raining ... what’s that expression? … felines and canines out there.  No one is going to be standing out in this downpour waiting to stare at the great Shepard.”  He leans down, his mouth plates just brushing her brow.  “Garrus is right here.  You’re safe.”

 

Her cane bounces off his spur as she wraps her second arm around him, pressing herself tight.  “I used to love the rain.”  Resting her cheek against his chest, she takes a long, shaky breath.  “While most people ran to get inside as fast as they could, I was the one wandering with my face turned to the clouds.  To me, rain always felt like a promise … new life tumbling out of the sky.”

 

“The rain’s still pretty muddy to spend much time staring up at the clouds, but it’s warm outside, and the city smells almost clean.”  He leans down, inhaling the strawberry and jasmine scent of the silken strands that brush his face.  “Can’t possibly compare to you—how do you always manage to smell like _Ylasiun?_ —but it’s a welcome dose of normal.”  Pulling away, he nods toward the double doors.  “Come on.  I promise what awaits you at the end of our journey will prove well worth leaving this building.”  When neither arm budges in their grip, he chuckles and leaned down to nuzzle her hair.  “Don’t make me call Garrus to throw you over his shoulder.”

 

A smile cracks Shepard’s rigid mask.  “He’d enjoy it way too much.”  After a moment, she nods and pulls away, the way she braces her spine drawing him back through time to London before the battle.  After saying goodbye to Garrus, she’d paused inside the door and rolled her shoulders, setting them like fortress walls.

 

He waits for her to set out, not wanting to press.  Despite his saying it all the time, Shepard truly has earned the right to live on her own terms, even if it means postponing their date another week or month.  

 

Taking a step, she glances back.  “Well?  Coming, Primarch?”  A shaky grin challenges him.  “Or do turians melt in the rain?”

 

He steps up, wrapping a supportive arm around her waist once more.  “We do melt, but only after significant exposure.  I’ll be fine getting to the shuttle.”

 

Garrus opens the hospital’s main door, holding it for Shepard.  Stepping out into the rain, he grumbles, confirming the melting danger, but Victus can see the combination of elation and relief on the _torin’s_ face when Shepard shuffles over the threshold.  Victus understands.  Watching Shepard take her first steps outside, on her new feet, maybe not yet whole, but … .  It’s like each step brings another part of her to life, and by the time the rain plasters down her hair and she’s looking up into the slate sky, she’s returned to them.  

 

Victus’s heart pounds hard and fast in his chest, filled with a joy so piercing it aches.  She’s not the woman she was, but that’s neither required nor even desirable.  A cool, wet hand skates along his mandible, pulling his attention to her eyes … and then her smile.  Spirits, she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen … her hair slicked back and transmuted into a deep copper in the downpour, her eyes sparkling, face glistening.  He can’t say she’s beautiful despite the thick ridges of scarring that slice across every centimeter of skin, and he can’t say she’s beautiful because of them.  She’s beautiful because she’s Shepard … no ... because she’s Jane.

 

“We’d better get moving to the shuttle before the two of us melt,” Garrus calls, tipping his yoke to drain the water trying to gather in it.  “Or I drown.”

 

Shepard’s laugh comes as close to delight as Victus has heard in nearly a year.  Her fingers wrap around his talons, and she draws away from his side, leading the way.  She leans heavily on her cane, but seems to have forgotten everything but the joy and the promise of the rain on her face.

 

New life tumbling out of the sky.

 


End file.
